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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788615">A Minor Inconvenience</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green'>may_green</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Doubts, certainties and more [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Fluff, Death (Good Omens) - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flagrant invention of demonic lore, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Hell, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Alteration, Metaphysics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Our Side (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Reunions, Snake Crowley, Temporary Character Death, more than just memory alteration, the Third Side (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:07:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The bookshop "A.Z. Fell and Co" in Soho was open again.<br/>There was something off about mister Fell though. Well, he was kind and friendly as ever, polite and gentle, and not caring about profits as a Fell had ever been. But there was some strange air of sadness around him.<br/>And he was always alone.<br/>Hell was vindictive and rancorous as... well, Hell.  So, if you had pissed Hell off, the odds were high that it would try to come after you.<br/>There were a lot of demons who never Fell. Who were made out of shreds of human souls, and unfirtunate demons' essence and Satan knows what else. They were despised. But they were useful.<br/>_______<br/>A sequel of "Doubts and certainties", using its events and secondary characters. Can also be freely  read on its own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Doubts, certainties and more [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Angel in a Bookshop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a totaly non-obligatory sequel of "Doubts and certainties", using its events and secondary characters.<br/>But if you like it less than the first fic, then you're free to think it never happened.<br/> </p><p>The fic suddenly decided to have the 5th chapter, which I'm writing now</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bookshop "A.Z. Fell and Co" in Soho was open again.</p><p> It stood dark and silent for many years, and it was really a miracle no one got interested enough in such a property, but now it opened its doors for customers once again – as reluctantly as ever, with the same bizarre working hours nobody could remember or comprehend. And mister Fell was there again.</p><p>Another mister Fell, of course, and some old residents would say it was high time for another descendant of this respected family to come and take care of his fathers' business. Although the more sharp-tongued ones could ask where any of those descendants really came from considering all men in this family to be obviously as blue as the tropical sky. Others would speculate on the degree of family likeness between the supposed father and son and find it spectacular.</p><p>But in several days it was just natural to have the bookshop working and its nice owner gently talking to his customers about literature without selling anything. And most of the neighbours were quite sure that it was always the case.</p><p>There was something off about mister Fell though. Well, he was kind and friendly as ever, polite and gentle, and not caring about profits as a Fell had ever been. And people felt better and lighter in his presence and sought his advice sometimes, which was anything but new, again. But there was some strange air of sadness around him.</p><p>And he was always alone in his bookshop. Customers, yes. Friends or family? - No.</p><p>"It's always hard, darling, to lose them," Ms Bells considered herself old enough not to dance around some topics, so after some visits to the bookshop she decided to give the owner a piece of her mind. She always liked the shop and mister Fell, even when she was a little girl and laughed posting his working hours on Instagram. Who could say she would return to this place in her old age and find it the same, but full of melancholy.</p><p>She pushed her wheelchair a bit closer and patted mister Fell's hand lightly.</p><p>"The loved ones. They make us whole and then go and leave us bleeding and lacking again."</p><p>The bookseller startled at her words and looked at her bewildered.</p><p>"Oh my, dear woman, what do you..."</p><p> "Don't give me this bullshit, mister Fell, I remember him well, your friend. Stunning, he was, and this gait..."</p><p>Mister Fell hesitated a moment and nodded slowly:</p><p>"Oh, yes, he was. I didn't realise you would have any memory of ..."</p><p>"We all remember our young years," she gave a small laugh, then sighed sympathetically. "So what I wanted to say. I lost my Mark a dozen years ago. I was truly lost myself after that, for a long time. But the wheel still turns, and there is no good in always mourning, darling. There comes time to let go and embrace life again and not to refuse God's gifts."</p><p>Mister Fell looked at her gently and said, clearly choosing his words very carefully:</p><p>"Thank you, my dear woman; your words are wise indeed."</p><p> He steered her gently to the front door, and so Ms Bells left, and the angel gave out a long shaking breath in the silent bookshop.</p><p> It was silent in a very wrong way. It wasn't cosy. It wasn't librarish. It was graveyard. It was the silence of damped feelings too sharp to bear. The silence of not expecting anyone. The stifling silence of loneliness.</p><p>Aziraphale hated that he got used to it. But sometimes life just doesn't give you options.</p><p>He fled this kind of silence when it took over the cottage – it was unthinkable to stay there, it made him mad, and he hoped vaguely that his bookshop would make some difference. He sure had been alone here for long periods of time. It had been his home for nearly two centuries, and he had spent most part of them pretty much alone, and...</p><p>It didn't help. The silence came with him. As if it could not. This new silence came with him and chased away the former one, that homey and warm one which promised new books, and lunches, and forgiveness after arguments. Which was always a bit expectant of the sound of steps, of snake hissing and "Hallo, angel". The new one did just say he'd never come. Because there was no one to come anymore. There was nothing but a blood pool and black slim on the stones that he had found as he had come - too late.</p><p> </p><p>He was at a book fair - "sure you go, angel, just remember to come back eventually, or let me pick you up?" - when some strange feeling of unease rose in his chest, tugging him away. He was worried, he was... last time he felt this way he found Crowley hurt and surrounded by armed demons, so he dropped the deal in making and rushed out leaving another antiquarian amazed and disappointed. Aziraphale would make it up for him with some tiny miracle, but at the moment he was busy worrying and barely had enough patience to get away from the human sight to miracle himself home into the cottage.</p><p> Which was empty. And no one answered his call.</p><p>Aziraphale stretched his senses and searched - only to find an emptiness that frightened him as nothing in his life before. Emptiness in the place where Crowley should be.</p><p>There was half-empty cup of coffee on the kitchen table - it would stay there for the next couple of weeks - and the mobile phone.</p><p>The back door stood slightly ajar. The fence door in their garden was left open.</p><p>He never got to know how they had lured Crowley out. Was it a child hostage? Or just something for the demon's curiosity?</p><p>He went out of the garden and saw it - blood on the paved road. Blood that cried to him, because it was Crowley's, he knew it as certain as he knew his friends voice.</p><p>And there was black slime dissolving on the ground - of the kind that a demonic body, ferociously destroyed, would left behind. </p><p>Aziraphale felt sick, his knees buckling.</p><p>No no no no no no no no no no</p><p>It could be another demon. Someone Crowley had killed in self-defence. He was strong enough to do it. They both were pretty mighty now, with their powers rising in the years after the Not-Apocalypse.</p><p>Crowley wasn't a fighter. And there was definitely no fair fight here.</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes trying to steady himself and searched again. He looked through the surroundings, than through the county, the country, through the continent, the Earth.</p><p>No sign of Crowley. Nothing that would say, "your dearest brilliant demon is here". Nothing at all. Crowley was gone.</p><p>No.</p><p>There were all kinds of bad scenarios. It shouldn't have been the worst.</p><p>Crowley couldn't sense him when he had been to Heaven. Now Aziraphale knew exactly how his friend had felt that day and what wouldn't he do now to make this up for him.</p><p>So. They could have taken him to Hell. Or Heaven. Aziraphale would say there were traces of demonic presence all over the place, but he couldn't dismiss another possibility. Heaven had already worked with Hell once trying to destroy them.</p><p>He had to go back to the house and start searching at big scale.</p><p>He couldn't. He couldn't move, sitting on the ground next to the drying blood stain and shaking.</p><p>Crowley was gone.</p><p> </p><p>The house was bereaved. As if the life was sucked out of it.</p><p>Crowley's shirt hung messily upon a chair. Crowley's coffee stood on the table. Crowley's phone chimed scornfully with messages. Crowley's sunglasses glinted from the mantelpiece. Crowley was everywhere in the cottage - but he wasn't there.</p><p>After a while the phone got silent - the demon wasn't there to believe it had power.</p><p>Aziraphale didn't answer his own phone too - at least not to his human friends. He couldn't bear the idea to tell Adam, Pepper or Anathema (who was still sharp and brave despite her old age) that he had let Crowley disappear. They loved the demon, they would get worried and frightened. It was bad enough that he had to admit it to their other friends.</p><p>Farael came first - she didn't even liked Crowley, just started to tolerate his presence a decade ago, but here she was, frowning and asking pointed questions. As the Heaven's Emissary on Earth she felt responsible whatever side's operation it might have been and had the right to openly ask for explanations.</p><p>Noel was shocked and crying and of little use. Some other angels joined their "Teekränzchen", as Crowley had called it  with a smirk, during the last years. Now Azirpahale asked them to make some quiet inquiries. To his surprise, two of the three agreed without too much hesitation.</p><p>There was also a couple of demons who proved themselves to be friendly and trust-worthy enough in the recent time, so Aziraphale asked them and most of his expectation were on them, to be honest, which could be foolish, but Aziraphale grew very much used to put aside the prejudices about demons.</p><p>Those first days of feverish activity intermitted with just waiting, trapped in his own fears and hopes, were torture. No better were the answers.</p><p>Hell didn't celebrate it with any kind of big announcements, but the official and unofficial party lines both were "the traitor was destroyed".</p><p>Heaven claimed to know nothing at first, then joined Hell saying that the notorious demon was finally purged from the existence.</p><p>But this was, surely, what they wanted him to hear.</p><p>So Aziraphale tried other methods. He finally told the truth to humans, which resulted in pain, tears and swearing, but Anathema agreed to use her craft for searching. She asked him a lot of terrible questions about that day and place and wasn't at all hopeful, though. "I don’t' know, Aziraphale," the old witch said after a while of trying to locate the missing demon, "what could I find. The beings like you don't leave a lingering spirit behind as humans do, or... But there's nothing, Aziraphale. Nothing at al. We must assume he is dead."</p><p>The angel tried summoning circles. A dozen of different random demons appeared in their house, trapped inside a carefully crafted pentagram. All denying any knowledge or any rumours that the demon Crowley was, in fact, not dead but imprisoned or something.</p><p>Perhaps, he wasn't lucky enough to catch the right witness.</p><p>There was one being who could dispel all doubts, but he was hard to meet and leave unscathed. Not that Aziraphale really cared about the last part by that moment, but if Crowley was alive and needed his help, he had to be able to aid him, so he had to be here himself.</p><p>Aziraphale went to the Royal London Hospital and made sure that no creature, human or otherwise, died there for nine days.</p><p>It wasn't easy to make Death come for just a conversation, but the angel managed to get his attention, even if he was shaky with tiredness.</p><p>The talk was far from pleasant.</p><p>"YOU PRIDED IN MY DEFEAT THE OTHER DAY, PRINCIPALITY. NOW YOU WANT TO GET COMFORT FROM ME. THIS ISN'T LIKELY."</p><p>"Just tell me if Crowley is dead, please, and you can gloat as much as you like. But I won't care about any other of your words and I will save from your hands anyone here until you answer."</p><p>"YOU OVERSTEP YOUR LIMITS, PRINCIPALITY. THESE LIVES ARE MEANT TO END, THAT IS HOW THE UNIVERSE WORKS. THAT IS WHAT GOD WILLS."</p><p>The angel shut his eyes closed tiresomely and shook his head.</p><p>"Then God will see to it, but until that I.. " He didn't finish the sentence focusing once again on fixing the heart rate of an elderly woman.</p><p>"YOU ARE JUST BEING CRUEL, GIVING THEM ALL THIS FALCE HOPE." The looming presence of Death moved closer, making it harder to concentrate. To be. "AND YOU ARE EXHAUSTING YOURSELF. I AM BUT NOT ORDERED NOR PERMITTED TO REAP YOU YET. SO I SAY: IT WOULD GIVE ME SOME SATISFACTION TO SEE YOUR FRIEND OUT, BUT I HAVE NOT. THERE ARE THOUGH OTHER WAYS TO BE EXTINGUISHED FOR A DEMON THAT NOT DEMAND MY PRESENCE. LESS HONOURABLE ONES. AND HE IS NO MORE."</p><p>That said, Death snapped the threads of powers linking to the humans out of Aziraphale's fingers, and the angel stumbled. He couldn't fight now, not any more. His vision got blurry, his head was swimming. He felt lives fading around him, vanishing, crumbling, nurses and doctors pointlessly rushing to fix things, but he didn't have any strength left to help them. In the beginning havoc no one seemed to notice the blonde middle-age man nearly fainting in the lobby, and Aziraphale was quietly thankful for that. He barely managed to call Pepper and ask her to pick him up.</p><p>"I don't know what do you think you're doing," she said, making her way through the London traffic, "but it's really time to face the truth, Aziraphale..."</p><p> </p><p>And so he was back in the cottage again. Alone with a coffee cup and the long-dead phone. Fabric of the shirt slowly dissipated during the days - it was, of course, conjured, not bought, as was always Crowley's custom, and now the angel was too tired and too weak to keep all such things in place... so they vanished.</p><p>Aziraphale went absent-mindedly through the house to find something to drink and took the cup to wash finally, and then it hit him.</p><p>He was no more.</p><p>Crowley was ripped not only out of his life, leaving it empty and shredded. He was ripped out of the life itself.</p><p>Killed. Murdered. By the sight of the crime scene, slaughtered.</p><p>And he wasn't even there. Not to protect Crowley. Not to say goodbye.</p><p>The cup slid down from the angel's hand and shattered.</p><p>Aziraphale slowly sank down to the floor and wept.</p><p> </p><p>If the first weeks of denial and hopes could be described as torture, then what would one call the next ones? Hell?</p><p>Crowley could offer his expert opinion on the matter, but he wasn't there.</p><p>Gone, gone, gone, gone.</p><p>Aziraphale was so over-exhausted that night after speaking with Death, that after hours of crying he dozed off, and the waking up was a nightmare. Because in his dream they were walking together, smiling and chatting, gardens and rivers under their feet, and Crowley was alive, and well, and his usual witty and wily self, and Aziraphale woke up – to find the demon wasn't there.</p><p>So, sleep was now not an option – luckily, Aziraphale never was really fond of it. But it left so many empty hours with no escape from them. Hours filled with memories and regrets, and with questions.</p><p>How could She let that happen? How could She let Crowley perish, Crowley, brave, cunning and so in love with Her world that he protected it even when everything had seemed lost? How could She let this unique and brilliant being survive Hell for thousands years and now get butchered by some demon brutes?.. How did She dare to give them a false hope of safety and then to let down so harsh?.. Were they just pawns to Her, used and needless now, expandable after they'd served Her purpose? Was She still that cruel and capricious?..</p><p>And if She condemned him to Hell for these question, so be it, it wasn't even funny anymore, this old threat. He couldn't care less.</p><p>She didn't answer, but he didn't Fall either. And sitting in the midst of human lives and their everyday tragedies, how could he blame Her for not indulging him? For not looking after them particularly when it was always Her custom to let Her creatures live and die, and choose, and be free, not just guarded puppets?</p><p>How could he blame Her after She had given him so many second chances, so many shots to put things right.</p><p>How could he blame Her when it was all his fault. He didn't come when he was needed. He let this happen. He let Crowley be killed.</p><p>And what stopped those who had done it from finishing the business? Two traitors would make a more exceptional achievement for anyone. Or at least Heaven could envy Hell at that matter and make a move.</p><p>NOT YET, Death had said, which could mean he was waiting to get his permission pretty soon.</p><p> Aziraphale didn't doubt whoever came get him, they would come prepared – but he really looked forward to the possibility to face them and destroy at least a couple before his own demise. Revenge was a shallow thing, but still the prospect awoke a bleak grim joy in his heart.</p><p>Crowley wouldn't like this. But he wasn't here, he'd gone and couldn't tell the angel what to do or what's like him or not. He'd left. How could he be so careless? How could he, the old serpent, let himself be tricked and cornered so easily? How could he do this to Aziraphale?</p><p>No one came, and violent thoughts died in the angel's soul again, leaving place only for sorrow.</p><p> </p><p>The acute pain of loss seemed to get duller after a while. But always here, always aching, always ready to sting anew when a sudden word, or sight, or sound provoked it. And the world was full of words, sight, sounds that meant Crowley. That all told what Aziraphale had lost, how his own world was forever robbed.</p><p>One day he moved back to London, to his old bookshop. He considered for a while to run away from every reminder – but truth to be told, there was nearly no place on Earth which wouldn't hold a kind of memory. And even lack of it would become only a new reason for contemplation.</p><p>So, Aziraphale was back in the bookshop. He had spent a lot of time here alone, He had spent a lot of time alone before it, centuries upon centuries upon centuries when he and Crowley hadn't yet been close or when they hadn't met for decades. But even then Aziraphale wondered about his Adversary more than reason. And later the time apart meant collecting - things, words, tastes, stories - to share when they met. The habit to notice things that could make other happier was by now unbreakable.</p><p>Well, perhaps, one day Aziraphale would be able to find such a thing, or a wine, or a phrase in a book and not to feel pain, only remember his friend with a smile and gratitude for that companionship. Perhaps, the stars wouldn't have enough time to cool till then.</p><p> Which the angel seriously doubted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Low Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Welcome to Hell</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hell was vindictive and rancorous as... well, Hell.  So, if you had pissed Hell off, the odds were high that it would try to come after you. Most of Hell was also cowardly, so they preferred to act only if they had numbers and were sure of success. If not, they would better plot and hold grudge for centuries.</p><p>Crowley was declared off limits, and the word was that this had been the will of Lucifer himself. Vanishing of Duke Hastur after a failed attempt on the traitor spoke volumes to every demon. But no one would think that the story ended there. Crowley made too many demons angry. </p><p>And some of them were practical. You had to be, if you were the one who had built this wretched place from nearly nothing after the Fall while the luminous leader was making speeches or sulking alone. You would know the value of resources. And Crowley with all his faults was a valuable asset. Well, some Dukes despised his methods for they rarely lead to a massacre - Spanish Inquisition and French Revolution aside (the big management of Hell had never checked his previous activity too close after the failed Armageddon – this could lead to them looking too unprofessional, and that would cause consequences nobody wanted). Still his opinion and advice were helpful, his knowledge of Earthly matters deep and unique in a way. </p><p>So, Beelzebub devised a scheme on how to make use of it again and cared to present it to Satan on a day when he was in a mood not murderous, but quite sour enough to find such an idea funny. The faintest shadow of a smirk on his lips was everything she needed to set her plan in motion.</p><p> </p><p>The hierarchy of Hell was complicated, and the all-pervasive bureaucracy didn't make it simpler, but in a way – with a lot of exceptions depending on demons' personalities – it basically reflected that of Heaven's. Which also meant that you could be a shitty foot soldier angel, but still no one could be so lowly ranked to Fall and become an imp in Hell. So, not all demons were Fallen. It meant some sort of dignity, even if it rarely mattered. But there were the lowest demons, messengers, and clerks, and potboys who never were angels.They were... not created, this word was abhored in such deep pits, but made in Hell – from the stuff of human souls, and scraps of unfortunate demons' essence, and Satan knows what else. Those demons were despised, and looked down, and stepped upon by any Fallen, of course. But they were useful.</p><p> </p><p>There were hundreds of them in a vast office deep, deep down among many pits of Hell. More or less human-like or deformed, they sat at always uncomfortable desks and did the never-ending paperwork under control of the overseer Hedgher – a big brute with hog's tusk and piercing eyes. He hated them all, and they returned like for like. The ceiling was always dripping, the light barely enough to read the files, the files partly outdated and unnecessary, but who they were to choose what to do. </p><p>But even if all your work is disgusting and boring, you still can hate some of it even more than the rest, right? For instance, if it gives you headaches. More headaches than other. So, the skinny demon with hair coloured like rust hated the files with special markings that appeared on his desk from time to time. These were usually field reports or some project concerning job on Earth. And he had to proof them. When he was reading, he somehow knew where the facts were rigged or mistakes occurred. He'd never been to Earth, of course, one as low and unworthy as him couldn't ever dream of it. He just somehow knew, it was his task. And it gave him headaches. And with those files Hedgher often appeared near his desk too, and sometimes even accompanied by some demons of higher rank, which was terrifying. One time lord Beelzebub herself was there.</p><p>The whole office was trembling, while she came in and asked: "So, where is that... rat?"</p><p>Hedgher jumped up, and bowed many times, and dragged the skinny demon from his desk, and pushed him forward, so he stumbled and nearly fell over before her feet.</p><p>"Well," Beelzebub looked at him for some moments, as if searching for something. "Doing your evil work for Hell?'</p><p>"Ahm, yes, m'lady," he tried to get distracted by her buzzing flies, but it didn't help, his mind was busy producing awful options for his fate. "As good as I can. I mean, as bad. I mean..." his tongue got dry and clumsy, and he really didn't know what to say and was fighting hard against a wish to fall down and crawl away.</p><p>"Oh, I like this spirit," she laughed and turned back to the door. "Carry on."</p><p>This was scary, all right, but this also meant his work was important. So, couldn't it be appreciated a bit more? Perhaps, he deserved something, some reward for it, for example, a day off? Human invention, of course. Clever buggers. He'd never seen them, but hated them for they had do many things he' never can. Days-off. Cars. Music. Good alcohol. Good coffee (and don't you even start telling you could get some alcohol or coffee in Hell, pah!)</p><p>He was clearly better than the rest in the register. However, he suspected, every single demon there thought so. It reminded him of that place, Hollywood, where everyone considered himself a genius scriptwriter.</p><p>Other low demons didn't like him. He neither. Not that he understood the reason, but they were just stupid and plain. And of course, they were all demons, so they tried to screw each other over on the daily basis. He knew how to push a pile of his work to the next desk or switch it with the pile already done when he wanted a bit of time for himself. Just because he was bored and curious, or his never healing wounds ached, or his head ponded so much after that bloody work, or... or something big and angry was gnashing and tumbling inside him, making him quite frightened. He supposed, others were also scared of him, although would never admit it. </p><p>He realised it once when in a bad mood he slammed another low demon into the wall  demanding to tell why that one was looking at him wrong, and the demon snapped back, of course, "Buzz off, rusty!", but something lacked in his response. He was too eager to wash away.</p><p> They didn't have proper names, they were not worth it. Superiors called him rat, and colleagues repeated after them or said "rusty", mocking his hair. In this way Rusty was the closest thing he had to a name. Not as bad as possible.</p><p>So, that was fear. He understood fear, his life consisted of it to a high degree. He feared to make a mistake in his work that somebody'd notice, he feared the overseer and his whip, he feared Hell hounds and their teeth, he feared higher demons and their moods, he feared marked files and he feared not getting them anymore 'cause then he would be just superfluous, wouldn't he? He very much feared that thing inside him that wanted him to die, he was sure. And he feared to show himself vulnerable in front of other in the office. So, when he was, he tried to belt off.</p><p>He explored the labyrinths of Hell – next to the office at first, but gradually farther. He was slim and quick, he could edge through small passes, he knew some holes that no one else seemed to visit and got pretty good at sneaking and lurking in the shadows.</p><p>It still wouldn't save him that day. He was hiding in one of the corridors when the steps and plopping appeared. The stench of foul fish and light buzzing were the next indicators that two of the highest-ranking demons in Hell were coming his way, and he was very much not at his place without any excuse. And they were talking, he heard them, it was a crime hard enough to hear what you were not supposed to...</p><p>Rusty flattened himself against the wall, but it was not enough to hide. He was panicking, frantically searching for a way out, wishing himself to be smaller, thinner, more unnoticeable... until something happened and he found himself lying on the floor, the walls getting much higher, the smells brighter, the voices sounding not only from not so far, but from above... And he was slim and quick and could twist himself in a hole beneath the wall and keep still.</p><p>"I'll take these lying bastards apart," Beelzebub said calmly, coming closer. "But see, the traitor is useful", and she raised a file in her hands, which Rusty recognised immediately, it had been on his desk several hours ago. "Just as I'd said."</p><p>"Yes," Dagon nodded with a look of mild disgust. "I still don't understand why we couldn't just rip out useful and destroy the rest. Would be more fun. And he would be more dead."</p><p>Beelzebub shook her head:</p><p>"It wouldn't work, I checked. No way to cut only just the data. And he is pleasantly pathetic. A wretched rat. Anyway, humans are disgustingly fluid - yes, I mean it - so in some dozens years he'll get outdated and... "</p><p>They passed, and Rusty slowly uncoiled and crawled out from his hole.</p><p>He was a snake. He wouldn’t be more surprised finding out wings on his back.</p><p>Beelzebub spoke about him, for sure.</p><p>And called him a traitor. </p><p>No, perhaps, the traitor.</p><p>He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his knees – he was human-shaped again, didn’t even notice when he'd turned. The big angry thing inside him was tumbling again, and he was more afraid of it than ever. </p><p>They called him the traitor. And he had this very much personal knowledge of things he'd never witnessed. And this wounds that didn't heal and he didn't remember where they were from. </p><p>Well, he was made for the Hell's service, right? He could have some... scraps... of a certain very much hated demon inside him. Which was... disgusting.</p><p>He could turn into a snake. That was fun. Better to focus on this.</p><p>He tried it several times, and it got easier with every try.</p><p>Which meant now there were far less holes and cracks he couldn't slither through. This form was truly perfect for exploring. Rusty got to travel farther and find more. He was also nosy and picked up rumours and such everywhere he could. But it wasn't what changed his pathetic demonic life once more.</p><p> </p><p>One day the air was different in a crevice he crawled in. Different from anything he'd smelled in Hell. Fresh, and sweet, and clean. He crawled on, tasting this incredible smell with his tongue, and it only grew stronger – till he came out of the crevice, and there was nothing above him. No ceiling, no rocks, no cover. Just a bottomless nothing, dark and glowing with... stars, he knew what it was. Stars in the sky.</p><p>The view, the smell were overwhelming. So strong that he didn't even noticed at first that he was in human form. A human body, to be precise. Which would be natural for a demon leaving Hell if he was ever assigned one. Which Rusty was pretty sure he wasn't. (It was simple: it's more fun to keep the possibility to torture your prisoner on several levels, not to let him just get discorporated, right? And after that no one was crazy enough to want this face for the next millennium, so nobody noticed that the paperwork wasn't finished and the right of demon Crowley to use this body wasn't revoked) But he wouldn't really pay any attention at that moment if it wasn't dripping blood and hurting. </p><p>Some wounds were matching those on his true essence. But there were more, and this body was in a really bad shape. It was dying, actually. </p><p>Clenching his teeth, Rusty quickly sorted the damage through and started with the gravest injuries. He channelled his power to stop bleeding and weave tissues together. Fortunately, it wasn't a kind of damage a demon couldn't heal. But he had a lot to do. And this body, it reacted strangely. Willingly, but as if it was used to get more power. Well, again, not a thing to dwell on. </p><p>After rude closing of the most dangerous wounds, he lay for some time more and watched the sky. Smelled the wind. There was hard rock beneath him, too cool to be comfortable at night, but he saw grass and trees a bit farther and tasted their scent which was delicious. Next time he would have a bit more strength and get there, he promised himself.</p><p>'cause now all his cunning and wits had but one aim: to find a way to spend as much time on Earth as possible. The discovery of a secret passage there made his existence at the same time less and more miserable. He had something precious now, something to look forward to. But he could only rarely visit it while longing and dreading to lose it every second.</p><p>There were no regular working times in Hell, obviously. Demons don't need to eat or sleep, so technically they could work without a pause, but the management discovered  many centuries ago that giving them some time to be bored, and squabble, and relax for too short before coming back was a sure way to make them feel more miserable. And changing the timetable without any notice was a sure way to laugh and shake thing up. Rusty remembered vaguely to have seen something like that somewhere on Earth. Perhaps, he had even suggested this idea to someone. Well, not he. That one. Possibly. A truly demonic thing to do, honestly. But generally it meant that for Rusty it was never easy to get out. </p><p>But every time he managed, he healed his body a little more and scouted. Stars helped him to recognize the place – somewhere in the Central America. The verdant, vibrant, lush forest around proved this guess too. He slithered around as a snake, then wandered when his legs got strong enough to carry him. He basked in the sun, tasted river water and rain. Watched monkeys and parrots, bats and lizards, trees and flowers. He suggested them some things  and laughed when the most stupid really followed and started to fight or to build nests on the river sands or climb trees instead of flying. Sometimes he healed them just for fun, still surprised he even could do it.</p><p>He got bored actually quickly of this jungle. It was far better than Hell and back there he missed the forest crazy. But coming here he found himself wanting more.  And it would be... not bad to have someone to talk to. Perhaps to laugh together.</p><p>But he was his only counterpart, and so entertained himself. And in the forest and on his work place he was playing with some thoughts. For a weak and always scared demon it was a nice fantasy to imagine himself someone who could frighten the whole Hell. Who had brought sin single-handedly into the new born world.  Who was smart and mighty enough to stay the main Hell's Emissary on Earth for six millennia. Who did so much impressively demonic work. Who was crazy enough even to get himself a personal angel. Well, this was, for Rusty's taste, a bit too pervert. But in general he got quite used to associating himself with Crowley. Almost thinking of himself as of Crowley. By the way, Crowley was a Fallen one, so he literally was better than the rest in the office. </p><p> And Crowley's place was on Earth, right? He had never really lived in Hell since the Garden, they told. So, Rusty didn't want to wait until Beelzebub would find him outdated. </p><p>He wasn't able to prepare much. He just waited until his body got strong enough to travel long distances. The marked files usually came only once in a while, so after getting one of them he expected to have at least some days, more likely weeks or months break, and Hedgher didn't look after everybody so strictly, so he meddled with his and other demons work around a little... and scurried away. </p><p> </p><p>The first days were fine. He got out of the forest for good, got some good coffee at last, stole a car and drove to the north. Costa-Rica was still a bit too quiet for his liking. America sounded more fun, not that he had specific plans.</p><p>Anyway, they would all be fucked, because in Chicago they found him. Perhaps, some other demon saw him and ratted out or something else... but sooner than he got himself just a bit settled, he got the whiff of danger and fled as quickly as he could.</p><p>It turned out to be really hard, to run from Hell. He didn't have an aim or an idea for a route – this should have made the chase harder, right? But however much he miracled himself away or switched transport, jumped between countries, fouled his trail, they always were on his heels.</p><p>No way to enjoy Earth when you couldn't really stop anywhere, you're running low on your very limited miracles, and weariness was weighing on you more and more with every attempt to escape.</p><p>Perhaps, they didn't expect him to come to London. Because it would be too obvious for Crowley to go there, to his favourite residence. And he really didn't plan to stop in this city, but at some point he was out of options, and here he was, dragging himself along the streets that gave him severe headache. Or he was just fatigued. He hadn't rested in weeks for now, he couldn't make another teleportation for his dear life, he was too tired to make or steal from bank accounts money for tickets or to convince people he had to be on a flight...</p><p>He used the last crumb of his power when he'd heard hellhounds half an hour ago, and now they were closing in again. He just needed a little rest, a place to catch his breath... Nowhere would give him this, he knew. He was just desperate; he needed to get off the streets, perhaps, mingle with people... He saw a shop on the corner and came up the stairs without even reading the sign.</p><p> He was too tired to think, how could he not pay attention to the angelic presence otherwise?</p><p>Not so long ago he'd never thought to see an angel in his life, but here there were two at once standing among bookshelves. Both human-shaped, thanks Satan. One was a woman in a suit, another a blonde man. Both were looking at him with obvious shock.</p><p>"Oh shit..." he managed to babble. "Wrong door. I'll go."</p><p>The woman frowned and gave a little gesture, and the door locked itself before he managed to back out.</p><p>The blonde angel made a shaky step forward. He got very pale, his eyes wide.</p><p>"Crowley?.." he said in a small voice.</p><p>"Ah... well... kind of... look, I'm up to no bad, actually, Hell's hunting me, so I won't do any trouble..."</p><p>The angel seemed to be struggling to get on with the situation.</p><p> "Crowley," he asked slowly and carefully, as if speaking to a lunatic or a frightened animal, "do you know... where you are? Do you... do you know me?"</p><p>Rusty's tired mind finally caught up with the rest of his body. London. A bookshop. An angel. Crowley. So, if he played cards right, it could turn out to his favour...</p><p>"Oh," he managed to say. "I see. You're... Az..."</p><p>He didn't get to finish because the soul-wrecking howl made him swallow his words, and the door and the windows shattered under demonic power.</p><p>Rusty didn't turn to look at his pursuers. It was over. He was just so tired.</p><p>"'For the sake of..." the second angel lifted her hands and stepped to the former door, and the next moment a wave of scorching searing white heat and light rolled over the shop –  but the very second the blonde angel, Aziraphale, was next to Rusty, firmly pulling him close and shielding with his wings.</p><p>“Hold on, dear," he said glancing to the Hell on his porch. "It will be over soon. I get you."</p><p>There was screaming, and howling, and other messy sounds. And the angels were glowing – lightning-white, sizzling flame from that second one, it burnt and hurt, and milder, gentler, golden sunny-day radiance from Azirapahle. Or, perhaps, it was gentler not for everybody, as Rusty dimly realised.</p><p>The angel's wings had gold in them too, Rusty noticed. Four long flight feathers were pure gold, and some other little ones along the whole wing were a bit like golden caramel. It should have meant something, but this idea just exploded like a grenade with pain in his head, and he dropped it.</p><p>This was foolish. What kind of angel would take a demon under his wing on first acquaintance?.. Although Azirpahale didn't think it to be the first. Still, Rusty could easily discorporate him now... His headache suddenly got even worse than before at this thought. Okay, he didn't really want to... Just... Silly...</p><p>“Well, that was a mess", the second angel said adjusting her jacket.</p><p>"Couldn’t you be a bit more careful, Farael?" The was a sharp edge in Aziraphale's voice now, when he put away his wings, stepped back and looked worryingly at Rusty. "Not all demons here needed ..." he didn't finish his phrase.</p><p>"A bit of gratitude would be more appropriate, I suppose," Farael reproached.</p><p>The bookshop was all broken glass and overthrown bookshelves, and some stinking puddles and ugly salt pillars made quite tasteless decor – the sight that made something strangely ache in Rusty's chest. But the owner seemed to care very little about it at the moment.</p><p>"Although of course I thank you. Crowley... Are you... alright?" That was this voice again, angsty and caring.</p><p>"Mmmmh... yes, fine," Rusty bowed to pick up a book – it was getting on his nerves lying there so close to a gooey demonic remains. He even managed to get himself back upright, which was really an achievement right now. "I was saying I know who you are. Aziraphale. Hi, long time no see..."</p><p>"Not a big deal to know coming here," Farael said sharply. She eyed the demon suspiciously. "With hunting party on his heels. It seems a bit theatrical."</p><p>"Do you..." Aziraphale began very quietly and got silent. He looked at Rusty - and oh, that was really impolite. Not even in Hell where they had no corporations demons looked past the appearance, past the chosen masks. And Rusty was pretty sure it was the common etiquette for supernatural beings these days. But the angel Looked, no, Stared right through it all at his true essence, and it made him want to squirm, and turn into a snake, and slither away to the darkest corner of the shop, of the world if possible. Aziraphale seemed to feel it and looked away abruptly, blinking several times as if chasing away tears.</p><p>"Oh, sorry, it was really rude of me," he said. "Sorry."</p><p>"Be careful, Principality," Farael warned. "It can be a trap, a demon with Crowley's corporation and a story of amnesia to gain your trust. We don't know who it is really."</p><p>"I do," the angel snapped. "Thanks for your concern, really," he quickly added in apologizing tone, but his next words sounded firm. "But I can manage from here."</p><p>"Aziraphale, you..."</p><p> Rusty didn't get to know what Farael was about to say next, because the rest of his strength finally left him and his corporation refused to cooperate totally. He felt the bookshop twirling around and the floor suddenly getting closer – until someone caught him.</p><p>"Oh dear... it's fine, it's fine, you're safe, I get you."</p><p>Not that Rust could even worry about it. He was exhausted past the point of fear for a while now.</p><p>“Rest now." Something soft and warm muffled him up, and in a strange way, he really felt safe. For the first time in Rusty's existence, perhaps.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sort of</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was scary to have Rusty gone - and it was painful to have him around.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rusty woke up to a strangest sensation. Firstly, he was warm and comfortable and wrapped in something soft, which was unusual in itself. But there were light fingers gently carding through his hair, which was utterly awkward. Though definitely pleasant.</p><p>He didn't stir, but must have given himself away somehow else, because the fingers moved away quickly.</p><p>"Sorry," the angel said softly. "I... I didn't mean to wake you."</p><p>Rusty opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows.</p><p>"Don't mind.  You can as well go on," he grinned aiming for cheeky and stretched. It was really nice, having a body when it wasn't exhausted. Although the couch was too short. He propped his head against its backrest and eyed the angel. "Was it a part of what we were before, you all handsy with a stranded demon?" He didn’t have a clue how to behave here, but tried to project nonchalance and confidence.</p><p>The angel snorted a little.</p><p>"Hell's rumours..." he shook his head in a slightly disapproving manner, then asked softly: "Can get I something for you? A cup of coffee, perhaps?"</p><p>"Yep," Rusty really didn't want to leave this blanket. "No bloody milk and sugar!"</p><p>Aziraphale who was already on the way to the kitchen gave him a strange little sad smile:</p><p>"Wouldn't doubt."</p><p>Satan knows why this angel didn't just miracle a cup, but the coffee he brought was good. While he was not in the room, the demon looked around. The bookshop was in much better state than he remembered it last. No broken glass or overthrown shelves, and books scattered around should have been a standard decor for this place. The angel had had to be busy with miracles to put everything right.</p><p>"How long did I sleep?"</p><p>"Six days. How are you feeling now?"</p><p>"Okay, I think," the demon shrugged. "Much better. I... I suppose I should thank you," he added a bit aggressively.</p><p> The angel frowned a little.</p><p>"I would have appreciated it very much if you had come before nearly discorporating from fatigue," he said with a mild reproach.</p><p>"Ngk... I didn't... really..." Rusty felt uneasy and pushed himself abruptly to a sitting position. "Who do you really think I am?! Because... you know... I know I'd said Crowley… sort of. But it's not that I'm really..."</p><p>"But you are," the angel said firmly. "Yes, of course, you are... you, obviously. But you are Crowley. In the core. Even if you don't know it yourself."</p><p>"You think? Well, it's quite a thing to tell somebody, angel!" Rusty barked a laugh and noticed how Aziraphale twitched.</p><p>It was fortunate indeed that Aziraphale had these six days while the demon were asleep. During the first four, he wouldn't have been able to make any sort of calm conversation.</p><p>Crowley flinging the door and entering the bookshop was a shock. Crowley looking at him without any sign of knowing was not much better. And then – realisation, not recognition. And then Aziraphale did that incredibly rude thing Looking into the demon's essence, and what he saw shook him badly. He needed time to comprehend it. To stop crying. To sort out his feelings and start thinking clearly.</p><p>Now the angel was holding himself together, but the precise moment the thoughtless endearment slipped the demon’s lips he thought he was ready to break.</p><p>Aziraphale inhaled slowly and said:</p><p>"Still I do. I'm sorry. And I hope we'll find a way to restore you to your former glory.”</p><p>"Notoriety, you wanna say?" the demon laughed again.</p><p>"That too," the angel smiled slightly. This sight somehow warmed Rusty inside a little. It was strange, Aziraphale was nobody to him, really. He'd helped, but it was not for a demon to linger in gratitude. Still somehow, Rusty liked this angel to smile more than to twitch.</p><p>But his words were unsettling. Rusty doubted a lot he wanted to wake that beast up. It would very likely kill him, he supposed. But perhaps it was wiser not to say it aloud now.</p><p>"Do you know how to do it?" he asked carefully.</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head:</p><p>"Not yet, but I will start looking."</p><p>Well then, better to wait a little. To know more.</p><p>"Tell me, how should… how should I call you meanwhile? Are you comfortable with Crowley?.." The angel clearly felt awkwardly asking this. Rusty hesitated. He didn't know the better way to tease him, should he demand to be called Crowley or refuse it? Eventually, he decided he didn't really want to go with that label all the time.</p><p>"They called me Rusty. S’ppose it'll do."</p><p>The angel looked like he was punched in the face.</p><p>"Rusty, really..."</p><p>"It's a fine name. Better than "rat", you know", the demon defended.</p><p>"Hard to argue," the angel nodded sadly. "Now could you please tell me how much you remember, dear?"</p><p>Rusty shifted uncomfortably and frowned.</p><p>"I just know facts. About Earth, humans, and so on. I don't really... remember. No perssonal stuff.  My job is to check if the factss are true."</p><p>The angel knitted his brows trying to follow:</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>Rusty sighed. He hated to explain things. Why wouldn't others just understand what he mean? Just like he understands mistakes? He made himself swallow the nervous hissing.</p><p>"Planss, reports. If it sayss there are.. I dunno... only four sorts of ice cream, I know it's bullshit. I report it. More serious stuff usually."</p><p>"Oh, I see..." Aziraphale nodded slowly. "It was a really clever move for Hell, I suppose. No wonder Farael had it hard these years..."</p><p>"Farael?" the demon looked puzzled.</p><p>"The angel who was here when you came. She is the Heaven's Emissary on Earth."</p><p>"The all-smitey one, right."</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled, then shook his head lightly:</p><p>"We got her into trouble, I'm afraid.  But it turned out to be our luck too, as inappropriate as it must sound... Her being here during the Hell's attack made it into a full-scale diplomatic incident. Heaven is enraged, and while Farael was reprimanded, they still seek some sort of official apology and recompense from Hell. As I've heard."</p><p>"You have good ears then," Rusty sipped his coffee not showing he was impressed. To know such stuff sitting here, on Earth, and right when it was happening, was really something.</p><p>Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap:</p><p>"It's important for us. As far as I know it may grant us some easy time, because none of the sides would like to repeat such thing," he hesitated a bit before speaking on. "So it would be wise for you to stay here for a couple of days. Until the dust settles."</p><p>"Do you think to lock me in here?" Rusty asked mockingly.</p><p>"Christ, no! You are always free to come and go as you please. But here I can guarantee that you're safe."</p><p>The angel looked miserable, and something inside Rusty growled at the sight of it. And honestly, he didn't intend to leave anyway. Not while he could have this blanket, and coffee, and an angel to tease.</p><p>"Well, I don't have any pressing matters elsewhere," he said quickly. "I'll stay, okay."</p><p>The angel's face lightened:</p><p>"Well then.  I'll give you some space now, call me if you need anything," Aziraphale stood up from his chair and hesitated a moment. He probably wanted to add something more, but decided against it and left.</p><p>Rusty flopped back to the sofa flinging his legs to the backrest. He could sleep a bit more. Or browse through the angel's books. Or something. For now, he won't be bored.</p><p> </p><p>Rusty spent in the bookshop three full days before going out. More sneaking out, to be precise – not that Aziraphale could not notice it, but the demon clearly didn't want to discuss it. And the angel didn't know if he planned to return. He hoped so, but still... was worrying sick until the moment Rusty stepped over the porch again, smirking and in a better mood than the whole day before.</p><p>It was scary to have him gone - and it was painful to have him around.</p><p>What Aziraphale saw Looking at him at the first meeting... The closest thing in human experience would be to see your friend lying in coma, heavily burned, without half his limbs... and after some mad comprachicos had a go at him. A real miracle was that what's left still could make a fully functional demon, even of a low kind. The craftsmanship of whoever did this was astonishing – and Aziraphale would give a lot to make sure this creature would never do this to anyone else, no matter of the rang this demon should bear.</p><p>But even in this state, without most of his powers, real memory or even knowledge of himself Crowley still managed to escape from Hell, mislead the chase for weeks and come here to him. That was truly awe-inspiring.</p><p> Aziraphale didn't know what to do with this kind of damage. There were wounds that he tried to heal, but some of them kept reopening – and Rusty seemed to be so used to them, he didn't understand why the angel fussed about. But the whole Crowley’s essence was twisted, and melted, and hammered into this new form. The closest thing to this at Aziraphale's guess was what happened during the Fall, turning angels into demons. And that was always considered irreversible. But that was God's will and doing, incomprehensible and ineffable. The work of some demons must be easier undone.</p><p>So Aziraphale was searching for clues and reading. Not that his efforts brought any fruits in the first months but he didn't intend to give up. He had once given up on Crowley admitting him dead – and now how could he forgive himself for it, how could he let his demon down twice?..</p><p> </p><p>"Shit. That's horrible," Azrent, one of the Aziraphale's demon acquaintances, squirmed watching Rusty inside the shop through the window. She never entered herself – Aziraphale didn’t intend to change his wards letting exactly one demon inside without resistance. "He is... small. Fuck. Sorry, Principality. I'd... no, I'd rather not know how they did it." She drew at her cigarette nervously.</p><p>"I'd understand if you don't want to deal with me after this," Aziraphale said softly.</p><p>"What? No, Principality," the demoness shook her curls. "You are of too much use for me, you know. Not a lot of angels ready to patch up a wounded demon in London."</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled. Demons. She was wounded and failing at her task without an excuse, and terrified of going back to Hell and never returning. So, he gave her an excuse. A crazy Principality got in her way, that was more than convincing.</p><p>You help a demon – most probably you'd get confusion and anger in return. But with some luck there were still chances for gratitude. Aziraphale didn't seek it though, he just helped whom he could. He was free to do it now.</p><p>"I'm just angry, Principality," she was ashamed, actually. "I let you down. I should have looked deeper. They tricked me."</p><p>"It's Hell, dear, I believe your bosses know how to hide a secret deep enough," he sighed, "You tried, that counts."</p><p>"You bloody insufferable," she threw her cigarette on the ground. "I'll give you to know if anything comes up."</p><p>"And no funny business in the West End this weekend. I've heard Michael took a special interest in that nice girl."</p><p>"Oh, that one... Okay, not my business, really. Would you be there?"</p><p>"How can I miss a good show?" Aziraphale smiled. The girl with her angelic voice deserved to have a real choice, not to be commanded by an archangel. Did Michael think it was the 15th century again?.. So, a bit of demonic thwarting would come in nicely. Or, if Hell would not dare to challenge an Archangel, a thwarting from the third party. In the recent years, Aziraphale found participating in the big chess game as a third unwelcomed side quite distracting in his loneliness.</p><p> </p><p>The angel wanted to know more about Rusty's time in Hell, although the demon wasn't a good story-teller. He didn't seek for a bigger picture, and a short anecdote was really a top of his abilities. He clearly didn't think a lot of things worth mentioning, or perhaps didn't like to remember them. But Aziraphale managed to gently nudge him into telling more. Stories and details that left the angel sore, and aching, and boiling with anger – he tried not to show how much and Rusty never noticed. For him it was just a normal demonic life, he wouldn’t understand Aziraphale's rage.</p><p>Still the angel saw it could have been much worse. They could have left Crowley be himself, chain him in a cell and break and torture for every piece of information they wanted. And in his spite and stubbornness he could have made them kill him eventually for non-cooperation. Perhaps, it was the reason they hadn't gone this way. It was easier to maim and cripple him and make handy.</p><p>Rusty stayed at the bookshop constantly at first, then grew bolder and wanted to see more, so he disappeared for days or weeks, but always returned, with new toys, jokes, and ideas. Most of them made Aziraphale roll his eyes, but he tried not to lecture the demon and not to argue. Fortunately, Rusty forgot about half of his ideas in a minute.</p><p>To deal with it all wasn't easy.</p><p>Crowley came back from the dead – but he did not. A stranger with his face and his voice roamed between the shelves and teased customers.</p><p>He was very much like him. The smirk, the gracious way to move, the love for gadgets, and tricks, and mischief.</p><p>“Sort of”.</p><p>Aziraphale definitely remembered some stolen... well, not only apples, or broken carts, or pots shattered in humans hands, or misleading answers, or floors made slippery, or slithering as a giant snake in a marketplace just for fun. About six millennia ago. He also remembered care and healing just from the start – in secret, in shadows, denying everything, justifying it with some very demonic wiles. Things Rusty wasn't slightly interested in.</p><p>One day he came to the bookshop in a brand new car bragging how he had stolen it. A sleek green predatory monster. Aziraphale was glad Bentley stayed at the cottage and couldn’t see this disgrace.</p><p>"Earth is fine," Rusty said other day sprawling lazily on the sofa with a phone and typing feverishly. "I see why you wanted to save it. These apes are really funny. Although sometimes I'd rather have here less of them. Perhaps a go of Famine or Pestilence would be a nice touch, don't you think? Oh, no, you angel, you love them all, yeahhh...."</p><p>He clearly hadn't lived through the 14th century.</p><p>He hadn't lived through any centuries. He didn't remember, he didn't really know. Facts are facts, but they are not experience. Aziraphale missed dearly not only their shared memories, not only the happy possibility to talk about what a prick Caligula was or what the grapes on the Rhein tasted like. He missed understanding and compassion, love and care born from the millennia of watching "these apes" grow.</p><p>Rusty hadn't been the First Tempter with the vague and dangerous idea he had done the right thing. He'd never looked upon the deeds of his hands, upon their consequence with remorse and sorrow. He'd never had doubts if he could bring into the world something other than destruction. He hadn't really doubted at all yet in his life. He thought things to be simple. It made him too light-headed and light-hearted to have even a chance to be Crowley.</p><p>Well, great, would Aziraphale prefer Crowley to be forever burdened by guilt and memory of things he didn't want but was forced to do? Just because it was familiar for the angel? How selfish was that!</p><p>Sometimes Rusty had terrible headaches – he didn' want to speak about them, just whined and sulked for a while and got utterly childish in his whimsies.</p><p>Sometimes Aziraphale felt as if he was left with some young distant relative of his friend. And it was maddening. He knew he was himself growing distant and reserved like an old uncle. He knew that sometimes Rusty's silly idle prattle actually meant a desperate need for attention. He knew the demon was hungry, nearly starved for love and tenderness. Sometimes he felt guilty about this. But he couldn't. It was not his demon.</p><p>But then Rusty quoted absentmindedly a play he’d never seen, or brought exactly the angel’s favourite pastries, or just kept silent for a moment – and Aziraphale’s heart broke a bit more again.</p><p>Farael was too busy amending for her faults in the eyes of Heaven to visit – she and Aziraphale shared a stroll along the river one day, discussing the situation. Rusty expressed sheer joy at the news he wouldn't see the Emissary any time soon.</p><p>But when Noel visited, he liked him immediately.</p><p>"That's what I call an angel! At last someone with a taste in choosing a corporation. Looking fresh and new, not like you're 6000 years old!"</p><p> "Older," Aziraphale answered dryly. "But it was really inconvenient to count before."</p><p>“Erm, thank you," Noel blushed like a teenager he really wasn't. He gave Aziraphale an ashamed look and clearly felt out of place during his all visit, trying at once to answer Rusty's sudden hundred pointy questions about Heaven and discuss with Aziraphale a human situation that bothered him.</p><p>After he was gone, Aziraphale got back to his books, but Rusty was restless. He circled the shop, clattered with something in the kitchen, and finally appeared at Aziraphale's desk.</p><p>"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Still looking for a cure? Stop it."</p><p> "I beg your pardon?.." Coptic was not the angel’s favourite language, and to read it he needed some concentration.</p><p>"'Stop it. You look and look for how to make me Crowley, but have you even asked if I want to?" the demon snorted and started to pace between the desk and the shelf. "Why would I? Why would anybody want to be him? He was crazy! You both are... were… whatever. Listen, Aziraphale, I'm thankful for all your help and so on, but it's silly. Stop it. I won't do it anyway. I won't. Did you always want him to change too, I wonder? Was he alssso not good enough? No marvel he got nutsss!"</p><p>"I'm sorry if my attempts to help upset you..."</p><p>"No ifs! They do! And you stop them. Promissssse."</p><p>"It is up to you to decide, dear" Aziraphale let the scroll fold.</p><p>"Good. Then... I'll see you." The demon turned around and left the bookshop.</p><p>Aziraphale was sitting for a while just staring at the wall. He wasn't surprised, not really. This should have been expected.</p><p> And wasn't Rusty right in a way? Didn't he deserve something better than old pains and a boring old angel?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>At first it was just a story of memory loss in  two chapters with a magical recovery at the sight of the bookshop and the angel.</p><p> But that would be too fairy-tale simple, wouldn't it?..</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. An Angel and A Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Do you have it now?"</p><p>"What exactly?" Aziraphale felt confused.</p><p>Rusty shifted uneasily.</p><p>"The cure. The spell. The bloody ritual, I dunno. Which will make me ... the Serpent of Eden again."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Months passed since Rusty was gone, and the bookshop started to settle in silence again. Humans cheerfully rolled into another decade, claiming now they would try better and make things fine with their planet and everything, and of course stop all violence... they surely had planned to do it during this century... just after they'd finish that gang!</p><p>Aziraphale had heard all that so many times before, he just gave a sad smile, while Christmas songs turned into New Years fireworks, and life went on. Winter rains gave way to first blossoms, but the angel didn't pay them much attention those days.</p><p>Aziraphale didn't expect the demon to return. He spoke his mind. He didn't need anything here. He was curious about the angel, right, he used this place with its safety to get to his feet, and now he was able to go where he pleased, why would he come back? Unless he would need help.</p><p>Aziraphale didn't even really feel bitter about it.</p><p>It was Rusty, not Crowley.</p><p>Hell got what it wanted eventually. Crowley was no more. Aziraphale stopped his search. None of it had given promising results anyway. And if anything came up.... The angel feared that the temptation would be too much for him. The temptation to find Rusty and force him into doing it, because Aizraphale was so much stronger now than this poor excuse for a demon, and it would be so easy, actually...</p><p>But what right would he have to do it. It wasn't really his choice. Rusty might not know what he was choosing, but still Aziraphale couldn't make him.</p><p> And the demon was wrong. Aziraphale never wanted Crowley to change. Despite all his sighs, and eyes-rolling, and complaints about demonic wiles.</p><p>Well, perhaps, one time.  But that was an honest mistake.</p><p>He knew that Crowley spoke to Him. And the angel was sure that it was more than just idle tourist guide talk. He couldn't help the hope there could be place for some kind of a reconciliation with Her after... So, his stupid "still a demon?" question wasn't born only out of his clumsiness at a small talk.</p><p>He realised later how ridiculous his disappointment was. Not because of all demonic wickedness Gabriel was trying to convince him of.  But because everyone with a grain of wisdom would say that Crowley would be miserable as an angel in Heaven as it had become. Aziraphale just wanted him not to be damned, not to answer to Hell anymore. It took him another two thousand years to figure out another way to achieve the second part.</p><p>It took less than a century to see how naive it was.</p><p> </p><p>But one day the doorbell rang, and the locked door opened easily.</p><p>Just for a moment, the angel's heart began to beat faster, although he knew exactly there was no reason.</p><p>"Hey, Aziraphale!"</p><p>Rusty's presence was so less palpable.</p><p>Aziraphale went down to the shop and found the demon wandering between the bookshelves.</p><p>"Hallo, dear."</p><p>"Well, how are things? Have any unfortunate human purchased something here lately? I have something for you, by the way," Rusty nodded to the desk.</p><p>There was a book, a first edition of The Satanic Verses.</p><p>"Made quite a noise in its time, I reckon," Rusty said with a smirk, watching angel's reaction.</p><p>Of course, Aziraphale had it, which didn't made the gesture a fraction less nice.</p><p>"Thank you," the angel said sincerely. "It's an excellent novel, by the way."</p><p>"Oh, they say," Rusty shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk around. He seemed a bit disappointed. "Does the satanic part not bother you at all? And they wanted to kill that guy for it."</p><p>"Humans always tended to make a mess of their understanding of divinity," Aziraphale sighed. "Sometimes with the help of both Heaven and Hell."</p><p>"Oh no, not your old times stories!" the demon rolled his eyes dramatically. Rusty nearly never wore sunglasses – humans these days were not so easy to spook, so he rarely had trouble with it and even more rarely cared.</p><p>Inspite of his flippant talking and smirking, Azirpahale could say he was tense as a string.</p><p>"Could I offer you something? A drink?"  the angel asked.</p><p>But Rusty only shook his head. He stopped circling at least and ended up perching on the edge of Aziraphale's desk.</p><p>"Do you have it now?"</p><p>"What exactly?" Aziraphale felt confused.</p><p>Rusty shifted uneasily.</p><p>"The cure. The spell. The bloody ritual, I dunno. Which will make me ... the Serpent of Eden again."</p><p>Aziraphale flinched. That was...</p><p>"I don't. You said me you don’t want it. I stopped looking."</p><p>The demon groaned.</p><p>"I said it doesn't mean I meant it! Or, well, I did. Mean it. I was an idiot, surprise! A coward too. I chickened!"</p><p>Aziraphale bridged his hands and took a steadying breath. Remarkable, how this human bodies work, really...</p><p>"What made you change your mind then? Or, first, have you changed your mind? I thought you liked being... you."</p><p>The demon barked a short and helpless laugh.</p><p>"Me? What is me? Do you know how infuriating it is when you come to a place and you know about it, but your head still pounds with pain because of thing you can't remember? And this bastard, he had been literally everywhere! Sod headaches, there are so many things that seem to be somehow significant - but I can't understand why. This bloody idiot cared too much! And now I feel like I'm all holes and nothing whole. I hate it. Hate being someone's shadow. Hate not to know. It's like a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't catch. Like I'm trying to move a limb I don't have all the time."</p><p>He didn't wanted to speak at first, but as he started, words began to pour out as water from a cracked jar, and there was no stopping them. He looked more and more lost with every second.</p><p>"And I think I suck at making friends. Didn’t have much practice Below, you know, and now - how on Earth do you find out a person you want to befriend? And how do you make them like you?.. Oh, wrong question, you're an angel, everybody likes you, and you don't even like me basically, so..." he ran fingers through his hair and shook his head. "Well, so, that's humiliating, and..."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said softly, and he really was. To see Rusty so sincerely unhappy was not what he'd wanted at all. "I thought... I hoped you are fine out there."</p><p>The demon snorted.</p><p>"So, you really don't have it? Don't know how to do it?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"But how can you? You are the smart one! You must have ideas!"</p><p>Now it was Aziraphale's time to snort ironically:</p><p>"I am the wise and bookish one, thank you very much..." His head was swimming a little with all this new perspective to comprehend, so he might have been a bit rush to say next: "I might have a couple of ideas... but..."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Perhaps, Adam could help. Put things right just as he did after the Non-Apocalypse. But I'm not sure, he has power in Earth domain, and this was done in Hell, so it's complicated... and he is hard to reach lately."</p><p>The demon frowned:</p><p>"What do you mean, hard to reach?"</p><p>Aziraphale sighed:</p><p>"He's nearly alone now. His old friends are all gone, only Brian stays with him. And after he'd buried his last child, he withdrew himself from the world. He is still somewhere out there, but I have no clue where it is. And if the Antichrist doesn't want to be found..."</p><p>"I get it," Rusty nodded sulkily. "And your other idea?"</p><p>"Oh... that's... that's really not even an idea, it's just..."</p><p>The demon rolled up his eyes and crossed his arms before his chest:</p><p>"Aziraphale, fire it already! I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath and asked:</p><p>"You've seen my wings. Do you know where the gold in them comes from?"</p><p>"No, it hurts too much to think about it."</p><p>"One day Crowley was wounded with a weapon from the first War. It was impossible to cure. So we... joined our auras to trick the holy-unholy energy thing, and I was able to..."</p><p>"What?! That's... totally insane! Is it really possible? An angel and a demon, mixing?.."</p><p>Aziraphale couldn't say what was there more in Rusty's outbreak, revolt or interest.</p><p>"Not for anyone, I suppose. It demands a lot of... trust. So, it's hardly an option now, even if I could take a closer look and may be do something to fix your state... which is just a wild guess and nothing sure..."</p><p>The demon slipped from the desk in a quick fluent motion.</p><p>"I do trust you."</p><p>"Rusty, you..."</p><p> "That's the craziest thing, really, I know I shouldn't, I know it's not really me, it's just echo, how would I trust an angel who'd like to get rid of me, but still. The only place I feel safe is here. The only person I really trust is you. So, let's try it."</p><p>"Rusty..." Aziraphale found himself suddenly at loss with words. "It's dangerous. It can kill you. It will definitely be painful, especially if your headaches are really from memories...  and there is no guarantee it will do any good..."</p><p>"I'm not just Rusty, I'm Crowley, you've said it," the demon snapped, "And I want to try."</p><p>He was pale and  harshly resolute, although a bit shaking. Aziraphale felt sorry for his rush words. He was afraid. What if it won't help, the only option he was able to think of? What would they do then? And what if it would damage Rusty? What if he would ruin the demon?..</p><p>"It's probably a bad idea..."</p><p>The demon growled and plunged forward, clenching Aziraphale's shoulders and slamming him into the bookshelf.</p><p>"Just do it, Aziraphale, do you need me to beg?"</p><p>He was reckless, but didn't Aziraphale know the dangers better? Could he trust himself so much to risk everything? Could he risk to betray this sudden and complete trust?.. What was worse, to be reckless or to be a coward?..</p><p>This was insane, truly.</p><p> Aziraphale closed his eyes, banishing all other thoughts, focusing solely on the being next to him, using physical touch as a bridge between them.</p><p>Here they were, an angel and a demon, light and dark, a blessing and a curse. Not to stir, not to come too close.</p><p>Aziraphale gently pushed their auras together, letting the edges to blur, to start mixing. Rusty gasped a little. Aziraphale waited, giving him time to adjust, to push him back and run away. But the demon didn't. Instead he pressed further, as if experimenting, and watched musingly how black and white started to fade and turn foggy aurulent.</p><p>"Remember, I won't do you harm," Aziraphale didn't know if he spoke it aloud or only in is head, was this reassurance meant more for Rusty or for himself. Then he pushed again, stronger this time, using his power to overcome a weak instinctual resistance.</p><p>The hellishness in the demon's aura stung and burnt more than he remembered from the last time, but it was to be expected, Rusty was more of Hell than Crowley ever was. Aziraphale hoped the exposure to holiness wouldn't be too bad for the demon. He won't harm him, he stated once again firmly, while reaching further through their now fully conjoint auras.</p><p>They were tumbling through the ether, greedy darkness below, bright light above them. Aziraphale held Rusty in his arms, and the demon writhed hysterically.</p><p>"No! There's Hell, I'll fall and return there again!" he cried out.</p><p>"I won't let you," Aziraphale promised, steadying their flight.</p><p>Rusty looked up, and absolute terror surged through his face.</p><p>"It hurts," he whimpered. "It all hurts. Shining. You." He both clung to the angel as his only support, and tried to move away.</p><p> A little black snake was trying to escape the spinning of a huge winged wheel.</p><p>"I won't harm you," the wheel promised again catching him, countless sky-blue eyes blinking for a moment in pain when they touched.</p><p>But this was only a shadow of the real pain, just as this snake was just a shadow of the real serpent, the real Adversary, and the way the angel missed him was nearly palpable here. The sheer force of him wishing made the snake shiver while the turning of the wheel pressed him to the rim, scorching both with ice and with fire.</p><p>Aziraphale glided through the ether, trying to find the ideal position between Below and Above. The dark and stormy abyss made him uneasy, but he understood that the shining light appeared not kind, but relentless to Rusty. So he searched for that level where the light got not white, but a bit golden, where the dusk began.</p><p> "You have your own wings, by the way," he said a bit teasingly. "Big, black and beautiful."</p><p>"Mm?" Rusty made a little noise of disbelief, then frowned. The angel's words actually made sense.</p><p> Aziraphale shifted his palm to come over the place near the Rusty's shoulder blades where the wings would come out. The demon twitched, and sudden realisation hit the angel.</p><p>"Oh my... I couldn't see it properly from out there... Those wounds... thanks God they were so stubborn..."</p><p>The wounds that refused to close. Two of them marked Crowley's wings.</p><p>Aziraphale channelled his energy into them, not asking them to heal now, but to the contrary, calling for what they hid all that time.</p><p>It was as hard as pulling a big fish from under water. And Rusty got pale and shaking.</p><p>"Your wings. As yours as the snake form," Aziraphale whispered gently and luring. Not that an angel should know how to do it, but... millennia of friendship with a tempter had to cause some effects. The demon looked him in the eyes for a long moment, and nodded, and joined his power with Aziraphale's. It wasn't much, but it worked. With Rusty's cry, two black wings shot out of his back.</p><p>They were smaller, in a sore state, bleeding and lacking feathers, and so far from the chick look Crowley always was proud to keep them in. There was no gold to be seen, but still their appearance nearly made Aziraphale wince away tears. But Rusty tried to flap them, and the angel was too busy balancing them both in the air.</p><p>"That's cool," Rusty grinned. "Although they hurt too."</p><p>Aziraphale tried to find the other wounds, but they were somewhere deeper, still covered from his touch. And he started to suspect what exactly they were hiding.</p><p>He looked at Rusty for a moment. The demon was tense, and baffled a lot, and scared, but still curious, and his grasp at the angel's shoulders relaxed a bit.</p><p>Aziraphale felt for this curiosity and caught hold on it as on a strong shiny thread, which let him slide further.</p><p>Rusty. Curiosity, thoughtless fun and amusement about the world, a childish kind of nearly innocent ruthlessness. Evil interwove with it, and with anger, and with hurt. The same old loneliness the angel had felt in Crowley grew deeper now, it was real luck that Rusty was too superfluous to dwell on it for too long or he risked to drawn in it. Stubbornness and pride, unexpected in such sort of creature... and near them, hiding behind them something bright that raised joyfully toward Azirpahale – trust and just a tiny spark of care. The look of it clenched Aziraphale's heart. This bunch of threads lead further, deeper, through the mask of Rusty, to the very core of the demon's being...</p><p>And Aziraphale knew that in the end he'd never deserved Rusty's trust. He was a liar. He was going to betray it and harm him. He felt guilty and ashamed, but he couldn't do any different. Rusty would be destroyed, but it was the only way to bring Crowley back. The angel felt sick on the thought of it, bit still... Rusty wanted it, wanted to become his true self again. This was Aziraphale's only excuse.</p><p>The wheel turned faster, and his force pressed the snake stronger, stretched the lithe body beyond its capabilities, tearing apart the scales, burning with chill and flames of both Heaven and Hell in the search of truth inside this demon.</p><p>Aziraphale reached deeper, and Rusty shrieked and tried to break away, but he didn't have enough power.</p><p>"I'm sorry," the angel whispered. He didn't know if Crowley would ever forgive him for this violence, but he saw no other way.</p><p>He came to where the most of evil work was done. It was... like a ruin of a city, destroyed by enemies, with columns overthrown, walls broken, wells filled with mud. It was like a garden with broken trees, flowers torn out and  ground scorched.</p><p>Vaguely and distantly, Aziraphale felt something wrong on the physical plane. Perhaps, it was not his brightest idea, to rush into this without even sitting down. Rusty was barely standing on his feet by now, and Aziraphale put his arms around his waist, holding and securing him. Some demons had troubles with standing upright even after millennia of practise, and it would be really foolish to end all this up discorporating anyone of them by hitting a head on some hard edge... Aziraphale felt dizzy on more than one levels of existence too, but he didn't let himself be bothered with it.</p><p>He returned his attention inside, to the wreck that was his friend's soul. It was devastated, and anyone would say, beyond hope, but as heart-breaking as this view was, the angel couldn't linger in sorrow, he came too far to even think of defeat. Reverently, gently, he brushed his power and his love over the whole ruin and started healing.</p><p>It was like watering a garden after a long, long draught. Aziraphale's energy fell into the tortured soul like water into the thirsty ground, absorbed quickly and greedily. It was doing its work, the scars were dissolving slowly, the broken pieces coming back together, the new sprouts covering the garden.... But it wasn't enough. The damage was too big, too deep, it was like pouring water in a bottomless pit, and Aziraphale had his limits.</p><p>"Stop it"! You don't have power enough to do it. Stop it, Aziraphale, please, it will kill you!"</p><p>The dusky light played on thehair of a demon which  wasn' t Rusty anymore. It wasn't Crowley yet. Just a demonic being, without a face, with a voice alien and croaking. And it was pleading for the angel to think of himself.</p><p>"I won't. Just share yours with me."</p><p>"But I don't have it either! I don't have such power at all!"</p><p>"Nonsense," the angel laughed through the clenched teeth. "You don't know how much you do have. I stood with you in the sands of Time itself where you’d brought us. I saw you driving a burning car through the sheer will. I saw you changing people and the world with just your words. You stopped time once just to save me the paperwork. You healed and revived those who were beyond all hope. You built an island amongst the great Flood itself and guarded it alone because you didn't agree with the Almighty about killing kids. You have power".</p><p>Everything was spinning, and flickering, and wobbling around. And then at a sudden a new pool of power was offered to him, and Aziraphale just let it flow through him, guiding it where it was most needed.</p><p>He reached for the remaining resisting wounds, calling to them, asking them to reveal their truth.</p><p>But it was harder than with the wings. As if a strong wall surrounded something that Hell couldn't destroy, but had imprisoned and buried with all its hatred and violence.</p><p>Everything was flashing, quivering, rearranging. Pride stronger than before, old pain that took the former empty place, and mirth interlaced with irony, and boldness, and empathy... Aziraphale felt with tears on his cheeks how the whole metaphorical landscape shifted, taking more and more familiar form. There was but a couple things yet missing. Big, and bright, and immensely important.</p><p>And Azirpahale was so tired. He was almost drained by now, aching from so much demonic energy running all through and around him, barely able to do anything more than just float in the dusk on the back of the roaring wind that rose after Rusty was gone.</p><p>He pushed once more against the wall:</p><p>"Crowley!"</p><p>His voice got weak, he didn't expect to be heard.  Perhaps, it was best just to withdraw before he would become an unwanted intruder.</p><p>He didn't notice the wall to crumble and didn't expect a sparkling wave of love to overflood him.</p><p>"Angel," the dear voice whispered. "Angel..."</p><p>"Crowley..." Aziraphale gasped out.</p><p>Love, longing and relief overflew everything, embracing the angel. Aziraphale felt dozen of kisses landing on his face in the physical plane and hugged Crowley's corporation tighter in response.</p><p>Crowley was here. Not a dream, not a trick, not an illusion, not a shadow of himself. Crowley.</p><p>Something inside Aziraphale brimmed with joy, but shattered once more.</p><p>"'I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, dear, it's all my fault, would you ever, ever forgive me..."</p><p>What were he still doing here instead of backing off and giving Crowley space and time to come to his senses?.. Aziraphale tried to withdraw hurriedly, but that suddenly evoked a wave of panic coming from the demon. He clasped Aziraphale's essence anxiously, and the angel froze.</p><p>"S-stay.... stay here..." There was such a broken note in his voice, Aziraphale couldn't bear hearing it. He slid back, pulling Crowley closer, blending them both even more. Talking could wait. Talking and his uneasy conscience. Crowley was more important. And naturally Crowley needed some comfort now...</p><p>"I'm here, dear, I'm here. I don't really want to let you go either..."</p><p>The demon didn't bothered to form any coherent answer, just coiling himself around the angel.</p><p>Being close, feeling the other near and alive was reassuring. Was more than the angel had hoped to get anymore in this universe. Was an answer to the most desperate thoughts of the last years.</p><p>Was... nice, contrary to every logic. Actually, it was perfect. As if the whole night sky surrounded him, full of glow and love, bright as the stars and deep as the night between them. And judging by the way Crowley relaxed turning into an infinite flow of dark-golden fire wrapped about the angelic wheel, he shared the sentiment.</p><p>Why didn't they do it more often? It was real bliss and absolute joy, and thank you very much, nothing in Heaven for several millennia could even compare with it.</p><p>"Last time you nearly Fell," Crowley reminded softly, "Not an option I'd risk."</p><p>"Am I thinking this loud?" Aziraphale smiled.</p><p>"Feels more like singing hymns, to be honest. But I don't mind till they don't involve other beings." There was one of Crowley's wicked grins, doubtlessly, but it was also something tensed in his tone.</p><p>Aziraphale checked briefly - and of course, Crowley was still injured, his essence restored to the right form, but with wounds and scalds. The angel felt a stab of guilt. He reached to fix them, but Crowley stopped him.</p><p>"You can't heal this all at once, angel," he said patiently. "It will take time."</p><p>But he was in pain, Aziraphale felt it as clearly as his own tiredness now.</p><p>He checked again – this time that sea of loneliness. It got smaller - and smaller than Aziraphale remembered it from a hundred years ago. It would be unfair to expect it to vanish totally – not after what happened, not after Crowley was left alone in the hands of merciless enemies. But it got smaller, so Aziraphale should have done something right in those past decades.</p><p>He moved his attention back to the physical plane again – a welcomed, but hard support of the shelf behind his back, a lean demon body in his arms, demon’s head resting cheek to cheek on his shoulder. Settling back here, he gently pulled Crowley after himself.</p><p>"I think you would feel better here now, dear," the angel offered.</p><p>Crowley didn't respond for a moment, then slowly opened his eyes. His arms were now wrapped around Aziraphale's neck, and he pressed himself closer.</p><p>"Don't wanna let you go," he said with unexpected honesty.</p><p>"Don't have the slightest intention to protest," Aziraphale assured. He wasn't sure he could go on believing Crowley was here indeed without having him right in his arms.  Not for a while. "Do you feel better this way?"</p><p>The demon took some breathes to think, then nodded.</p><p>"It still hurts, but reality is distracting. Although it's all cold and harsh here.'</p><p>"Oh no, no more Rusty's whimpering again," Aziraphale chuckled, gently guiding his friend towards the sofa, which suddenly found itself wide enough for two human-shaped beings.</p><p>"Well, I have endless new ways to tease you now..." Crowley smirked, collapsing on it and dragging Aziraphale with him.</p><p>The angel was silent, until both settled down in a close embrace, then asked quietly:</p><p>"So, you... remember? What was happening?"</p><p>"It's a bit like a dream, but yeah, I do, most of it. Just don't ask how it was, okay?.." Crowley answered after a little pause, with shiver running through his frame.</p><p>Aziraphale hugged him tighter and said into his hair:</p><p>"I missed you so much..."</p><p>"Yeah... I didn't know what I missed, really, for the most of time. But still," Crowley raised his head a bit to kiss Aziraphale thoughtlessly.</p><p>And if in the next hours... or days... some cloth got unbuttoned and some efforts made in attempt to achieve the maximum closeness, there was nobody there to judge (definitely not Her. She preferred to eavesdrop only intelligent conversations. But She was really looking forward to see the look on Lucifer's face when these two got to their senses and he understood all the consequences of breaking his word this time).</p><p> </p><p>After a long time the angel asked:</p><p>"What would we do know?"</p><p>"Dinner. I'm sure you're peckish. And lots of alcohol, obviously," the demon answered lazily. "Some really good wine. What about a little voyage to France, angel?"</p><p>"Oh that's a nice idea. But I mean... you know... after. Hell and others..."</p><p>"Come on, angel, give me a break, I only got my mind properly back some hours ago,  Give me couple more days to think. I have some ideas."</p><p>"Of what kind?"</p><p>The demon shrugged:</p><p>"We'll need to send a message to them all... What was it, thirty years?" he snorted theatrically. "I spent more in Hell with filling in papers after some discorporations. We spent much more apart being busy with our assignments in many centuries. So, even if they try their worst, the most they can do is to cause us a... minor inconvenience".</p><p>Aziraphale should have twitched too hard, because the demon looked at him with a serious question in his eyes.</p><p>"Well, I've no right to complain; I wasn't dragged to Hell and tortured..."</p><p> "Come on, angel," Crowley shook his head gently, "don't try to pull that sstiff upper lip thing, not on me, I know you. I know it was awful. But better not to make this side of the story too public."</p><p>The angel sighed:</p><p>"You're right. Could we also include a strong discouragement to try anything like that again in that message?"</p><p>Crowley laughed sadly.</p><p>"Definitely. As soon as we figure out how to do it at all. And now – dinner. Not sure about London, but it must be time for dinner somewhere."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are extremely welcome</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Not An Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If only things could always be as simple as those first bright moments.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I didn't plan this chapter. I wanted to stop where they were happy and together and...<br/>But who asked me. It just happened.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They didn't go straight to Paris. Or Provence. They didn’t go to Ritz. Crowley asked for something new, and Aziraphale picked up a nice restaurant with European cuisine not so far from the bookshop.</p><p>For a moment, he thought they wouldn’t go anywhere. Crossing the threshold, Crowley abruptly stopped, all muscles tensed and teeth clenched.</p><p>"Actually, we could order something in, dear, it's quite a nice idea..." Aziraphale said softly.</p><p>"No, I won't hide in the bookshop like a rat."</p><p>"Excuse me, there are definitely no rats in my shop," Aziraphale said very primly, and it worked, the corner of Crowley's lips curved a little, and some tension left.</p><p>The demon stormed down the porch and came to the car that Rusty'd left parked partly on the pavement. Crowley circled it slowly, looking musingly, then shrugged:</p><p>"Well, not so bad".</p><p>"But," Azirpahale felt strangely hurt, although he couldn't place his finger on the exact reason. “It’s... it's... green!"</p><p>Crowley pushed up an eyebrow:</p><p>"Am I not allowed? What if one day I'll choose a green shirt?"</p><p>"Oh," the idea of seeing Crowley in something other than black and grey was unexpected. "That will go lovely with your hair, dear,” Aziraphale supposed.</p><p>The demon snorted and slid into the driver's seat.</p><p>"'Get in, angel."</p><p>He drove like a madman, as usually, and Aziraphale wondered how he could miss even that. But the way Corley seemed to be steadily looking at the road instead of glancing ai it from time to time and how his knuckles got white on the wheel several times made the angel worry. The demon's mood clearly changed as soon as he left the safe haven.</p><p>The restaurant had a table waiting for them - or better to say a booth, comfortable and safe from other customer's eyes and ears. Aziraphale was not a stranger here, so a waitress welcomed him wholeheartedly and suggested some of his favourites straight away.</p><p>"Nice to see you didn't quit indulging in gross matter," Crowley smirked, when the girl went away.</p><p>Aziraphale wasn't ever sure how to take the word "nice" coming from Crowley. It could be both earnest and insulting, and now the demon's look didn't give him a hint, returned dark glasses not helping. So, the angel answered carefully:</p><p>"A habit of too many years, don't you think? And sometimes I just need a place for a meeting. Can't invite every acquaintance into my house."</p><p>Crowley looked at him for a moment, then raise his eyebrows mockingly:</p><p>"Oh, demons. Angel, I'm out for a third of a century, and you already asking half the Hell out?"</p><p>He smiled, but something wrong was in his face and pose, something predatory and angry. Aziraphale felt uncomfortable with it, but he could guess Crowley wasn't comfortable either.</p><p>"I'm talking business, not friendly meetings, dear," he said softly.</p><p>The waitress came with wine, and Crowley nodded, sprawling over his chair. When she was gone, he reached to take Aziraphale's hand for a moment.</p><p>"I'm sorry, angel, shouldn't snap at you like that.."</p><p>"It's okay," Azirpahale patted his hand gently and took the glass. "Hard last decades. What should we drink for today? Happy returns?"</p><p>Crowley nodded with a much more sincere smile, but then frowned and added:</p><p>"But the next will be for the friends gone."</p><p>If he were human,  Aziraphale could choke on this phrasing, but after a second he realised what Crowley had meant.</p><p>"Yes, of course, dear. You know, I'm so sorry they are not here now to meet you again. But they both had long good lives..."</p><p>"Did you check?" Crowley cut in with sudden urgency.</p><p>"Yes. Technically, Noel did, he has the clearance. Anathema, and Pepper, and little George, they are all in the good place, Crowley. They are all fine."</p><p>"Well, that's something. I reckon Gabriel and Co shouldn't be so happy about it."</p><p>"Oh, you know, they have no say in this matter. No one in Heaven has."</p><p>"Thanks God," Crowley said and grimaced.</p><p>"I suppose, it's really something to be thankful for," Aziraphale admitted.</p><p>"When did it happen, I mean, George?"</p><p>"Three years ago. He went peacefully, of course. But Adam..."</p><p>"You shouldn't have left him alone, poor kid," Crowley frowned. "You now mortality is a bitch, and to lose a child..."</p><p>"Excuse me, the kid is 130 years old and the Antichrist. He has his right to be left alone if he wishes."</p><p>"Don't complain if he decides to start another Armageddon next..." Crowley flinched and barely finished his phrase, suddenly strained and looking somewhere behind Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel looked behind, but found nothing that could cause such a reaction. Well, it could be just light and shadows play, he supposed. When he looked back, Crowley's face was carefully blank, and the demon forced himself to relax again, musingly watching wine in his glass and not making eye contact.</p><p>"You're not eating, angel. Real insult to God's gifts".</p><p>Aziraphale smiled politely and turned his attention towards the salad.</p><p>It was painful, to see Crowley so fragile.</p><p>But more painful was to see him withdrawing and closing in his own shell. In some minutes, it was just another dinner from any previous century. Food for Azirpahale, wine for Crowley, watching humans, exchanging not very meaningful remarks. Not talking about the last thirty years, as if they'd never happened. But also as if the last day had never happened also. As if they were not closer to being one than two merely a dozen hours before.</p><p>Aziraphale missed that feeling of Сrowley.</p><p>But Crowley hadn't asked for that level of intimacy, it was at least partly forced upon him, Aziraphale reminded himself guiltily. And was it really surprising if the demon needed to re-establish his own borders and outlines now, coming back from that unimaginable plight. Was it surprising if he needed something normal and customary.</p><p>So, Aziraphale smiled, and reminded Crowley of some old stories, and nudged him into trying some desert, and swallowed the urge to reach for him and ask if he was alright every time it occurred.</p><p> </p><p>When they come back to the shop, Crowley patted the top of the car.</p><p>"She is really a nice one. Still I need to return Bentley. Where is she?"</p><p>"At the cottage, just as you left it."</p><p>"The cottage," Crowley stood on the pavement, hands in pockets, slightly rocking from ршы heel to toe. "It is still... ours."</p><p>"Yes, of course, I wouldn't sell it in a million years, I suppose. I've said it to Rusty, haven't I?  I mean, you've said, you remember..."</p><p>"I know facts," Crowley said emotionless. "It's just... it takes time to process them now once again. From my own perspective."</p><p>"Oh, yes, I see... We could go and fetch her? Take a drive, perhaps? Tomorrow?" Aziraphale offered.</p><p>"We'd need two drivers for it. Don't tell me you miraculously learnt it while I was gone, I wouldn’t believe it," the demon smirked, watching the passers-by with interest of one always on friendly footing with fashion.</p><p>"No. But..."</p><p>"I'll just miracle myself there. Come back tomorrow."</p><p>Azirpahale swallowed hard. He didn't want to let Crowley out of his sight for a minute, really, not to say many hours.</p><p>"There are some things I'd like to bring too, so we could..."</p><p>The demon shrugged:</p><p>"Just name them, I’ll grab them. If it's not too big to fit on the Bentley."</p><p>He clearly didn't want the angel to accompany him. Aziraphale tried very hard not to feel hurt. What was worst, Crowley was very possibly already ashamed of that outburst of love and affection which was so against his usual coolness.</p><p>"Are you sure it's wise for you to go there alone?" the angel finally voiced one of his concerns. "To where all this... nightmare started?"</p><p>Aziraphale wasn't sure of his choice of word, and it was obviously wrong. Crowley winced and looked at him for a long, torturous moment. Aziraphale almost could hear the words forming in his head:<em> "I'm glad you don't know what a nightmare is, angel."</em></p><p>He didn't say it. He didn't say anything for a moment, averting his gaze and taking control of his breath. Then suddenly he put away his glasses and stepped forward.</p><p>"I'll be fine, angel," he said, taking Aziraphale's hands and leaning his forehead to the angel's.</p><p>"I'm absolutely sure about it," Aziraphale answered.</p><p>Both knew they were speaking not just about this practical situation. Both knew it was easier to say it this way.</p><p>"Well, go, and call me if anything..." the angel forced himself to smile, feeling some knots in his stomach loosening and tying again. "I'll be at the shop."</p><p>Crowley rolled his eyes showing how unnecessary the last phrase was. He stepped back, closed his eyes and vanished, only the disturbance from a demonic miracle left in the air.</p><p>Aziraphale’s heart missed a beat at this sight, but he told himself to stay calm. Crowley clearly needed some space, possibly, needed to prove to himself he could do it. And he was quite capable to look after himself... most of the time.</p><p>The angel went into the shop, made himself a cup of tea, and promised to go after Crowley only if there will be no news for more than eight hours.</p><p>Crowley will be fine. They will be fine.</p><p>It will take time, of course, and struggle. If only things could always be as simple as those first bright moments.</p><p>But they never were in this ineffable game of Hers. Neither for humans, nor for supernatural beings - if they tried to truly live this life. Not just follow orders, but let care into their hearts.</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head slightly and looked up with a smile:</p><p> "Thank you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a comment, let me know if it was any good. Or bad.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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